What is Love? Read Online Free PDF Page A

feet.
    Ellen stood and
nodded in agreement, but it still felt like someone had shredded her insides
with a steel grater. She forced her cheeks into a smile as Lady Sutherland and
Greta approached. You can do this , she told herself. Be strong. Don’t
let them see. Be strong!
    “Ellen, where’s
Jonathan?”
    “He got sick,” Ellen
replied, trying to sound casual. “He’s having trouble with his—”
    “Mrs. Z thought he
was yelling at you.”
    “And someone said he
stormed out and got a cab, did you have a fight?”
    Ellen bit her lip,
fighting back tears. This was going to be a very long night.

CHAPTER 2
    After the gala, a
broken Ellen returned home, alone. The evening had been unbearable—acting
strong while everyone around her gossiped. Jonathan had taken a cab home that
night to pack. He left a message with their housekeeper, Maria, saying he would
be away on business and gave no return date. By the time Ellen came home and checked
his room, he was gone. Judging by the empty hangers, he planned to be away a
long time.
    Every time Ellen
imagined her Sunday luncheon, her resolve wilted until she finally canceled it.
She refused to take any calls or get out of bed, telling the staff she was sick
with a contagious flu. Evidently they believed her, for the house was a quiet
morgue.
    She spent Saturday
crying and torturing herself with images of Jonathan in the arms of that evil,
calculating tramp. She pictured him groping that young body. She imagined them
so clearly, staring into each other’s eyes and gushing pathetic fake words of
love, believing in every lie that crossed their treacherous lips. Then, for
extra torture, she lay in bed reading all the cards and letters he had written during
the first years of their marriage. Cards and letters filled with loving words
and tender emotion, proving how much he had loved her in those early years.
    Where was this
affectionate man now? The banal valentine Jonathan left for her sat neglected
on the front console table. Every time Ellen thought about it, she cried. She
cried for all the words no longer spoken, for all the feelings he no longer
had. Finally, in an act of self-preservation, she shoved it into the drawer,
while her card to him lay on his dresser, unopened.
    By Sunday, she was
exhausted. Fool, she repeated through her tears. But who was the fool?
Jonathan? Herself? Both perhaps. Haven’t I been through this nonsense of
yours before? Haven’t I seen this so-called passion burn out and die as quickly
as it started? Hasn’t my heart been damaged enough over the years to become
immune to pain? It should have. Through all your mistresses, the failures and
forgiveness, a bond emerged between us. A binding, silent agreement. Jonathan,
have you forgotten? I followed the rules. I became everything you wanted in a
wife. A perfect mother. How did I fail you? I gave you your freedom. I allowed
your habits. Wasn’t that enough? It should have been.
    Finally, after hours
of lying in bed, feeling every bit as sad as the night of the gala, she got up
and went to her bathroom and splashed cool water on her swollen eyes. Enough
already, she scolded herself. You’re stronger than this. Do something. She thought of going to church. She had rarely missed Sunday morning mass. But
seeing anyone would only remind her of what she was trying so hard to forget.
She stared at her puffy face and tried to remember how it looked when she was
young. Have I actually changed that much? Is fifty-eight really too old to
be loved? If he can’t love an old me, who will? He at least knew I was once
young and pretty. All any other man would notice today is a sad, wrinkled
woman. Someone’s leftover.
    She needed comfort.
Anything. She went to the closets in the bedrooms, hauled out all the
photographs and albums from the past forty years, and brought them to his
bedroom. She amassed a substantial pile of shoeboxes and albums, all holding
the record and proof of their love, an entire lifetime.